Courage Atypically Gryffindor
by whitesakura-rain
Summary: Many would disdain to be a rodent, seeing only all aspects negative of it. But it takes courage to resign to being a rat, and to perform what is needed while in that form. A Peter Pettigrew protagonist.fanfic, written for a Houses of Hogwarts challenge.


Mini Author's Note: This fanfic is (supposedly) written in response to Veritaserum's bajab's (17/09/05) The Houses of Hogwarts challenge. I say 'supposedly' because it's more than one year late for it! Lol. This is the first of four installments (one for each House of Hogwarts) where the protagonist needs to exemplify the characteristics and traits of the chosen house. Don't worry; the rules say that it needs to be a short story, so you won't have to suffer too much from my crazy writing—I hope. I'm writing about Peter in this one because I'm interested in the 'alternative viewpoints' that JKR doesn't insert into her books and enjoy designing plausible (and maybe not so plausible) excuses for certain minor characters' behaviour throughout the series. So, um. Enjoy?

Obligatory Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series is not mine. So don't give me any unnecessary grief or credit for that humungous piece of work.

Requesting: Criticism (to stop me from being weird) Volunteers, anywhere?

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**Courage Atypically Gryffindor**

**-The Unvoiced Strength of Gryffindor-**

You know, (contrary to popular opinion) being a rat is not really all that bad.

A lot of Gryffindors would disdain to be a rodent, as (popular opinion has it that) rats are sneaky, selfish, underhanded, and worse of all, cowardly. Cats wilth prowl and owls doth judge, vines reachth upwards and rats shalt… hide? (Common opinion has it that) rats are useless, and wimps to boot. Not exactly a self-image that someone in the house of courage would want to portray to the world.

A lot of Slytherins would disdain to be a rodent, when there are so many other animals out there which have better images, better habits, better living quarters, and better positions in the hierarchy of the natural world. Why be at the bottom of the food chain (when you can be at the top)? So ask those who have bigger ambitions than to be overlooked for life.

A lot of Hufflepuffs would disdain to be a rodent, especially since rats neither produce nor manufacture, and seem to serve almost no use in the environment (save to consume and be consumed). They have no especial use, or talent, and are almost as great a pest as locusts or mosquitoes. In short, they would not appeal to those who value efforts and hard work.

A lot of the Hogwarts' family would disdain to be a rodent, but not all. Not those who really understand the strategic advantages in being one.

Certainly a Ravenclaw would be able to appreciate that it takes a lot of sharpness in the mind, for a rat to be able to avoid capture and death (as it hides or forages) amongst those who could kill it in a heartbeat. Cleverness is, of course, of utmost importance to the people of this house.

So would it be assumable that only Ravenclaws would enjoy being rats?

Not really. Ravenclaws might be more acceptable to the idea, but it doesn't mean that they would relish being one. And while those of the other houses might not like the idea, they could nonetheless enjoy being one.

For example, I am from Gryffindor, yet I don't find the rodent abhorrent.

In fact, it is my animal form.

And if you needs't know, my name is Peter Pettigrew. Otherwise known as Wormtail, rat animagus.

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Unlike the stereotypical (open and honest) Gryffindor, I think that traveling in my inconspicuous, less-than-savoury rodent form is sort-of an advantage.

Just consider. Rats exist (almost) everywhere; they burrow like rabbits in the dense forests, stow away in the storage rooms of ships and adobes alike, and can sneak into almost any place (that has holes to get in through and shadows to blend into).

In short, they have the attributes needed to make them the ultimate spies—that is, as long as you have the courage to be one and be a spy as one. The mere thought of easily becoming a hungry owl's snack (a very real threat in the wizarding world where owls are owned by practically every household) would stagger many's steps as they take even their first treads onto this path.

Because of various rodent-attributed qualities (that I have gained through my animagus form), and thanks to the nerve that has put me in Gryffindor, I have been able to make some decisions that I would normally not have. And although these have cost me the good regard of those whom I most love and admire, what is most important to me is that I have been able to forge myself and the Light a path of hope—a path into the future.

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Things should perhaps be referred to in chunks.

A select few know that I am an animagus. These people used to include only my dear ol' friends in The Marauders (James, Remus and Sirius), and an unnamed seer who laid down a prophecy for me, so many decades before I was even born. Then the number expanded to include James' wife Lily, Dark Lord Voldemort, and his Death Eaters. Later on, in the year that Sirius escaped from Azkaban, I was found out by James' son Harry as well as his friends Ron and Hermione, my mentor Professor Dumbledore, and perhaps, almost everyone else who cares to know.

A select few know that I was James and Lily's secret-keeper when they went into hiding with Harry. It used to be just me, them, Sirius, the seer, and Lord Voldemort; then after Sirius revealed the truth, perhaps the whole world knew.

A select few know that I was bound by fate to betray the Light in order to eventually save it, to put its decided saviour at risk so that he could gain the powers he needed. But those who know this would include only the seer, and me. Perhaps someday others will know too, but in hopes it will be after my task is completed (for I dread to think what repercussions it might bring to the turn of the prophecies).

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Why am I a rat, you ask? For as you can guess from past pictures and the current, I've always been rather short and rotund. Shouldn't a more fitting translation of my body shape be a dormouse or a hedgehog, or some other more-similar mammal? And I was a Gryffindor; shouldn't I be some animal that couldn't be easily mistaken for a Slytherin-ish symbol?

Not so.

It's not that I can choose my animagus counterpart, of course. It also has a lot to do with what I actually am inside at the time of the first transformation.

When young, I used to hope that my plumpness was just puppy fats at work, and that my growth spurt would happen at any moment. Yet years passed and I went through year after year of continuous hori/ver-challenged-ity.

I hated it; hated myself.

Looking at James, Sirius and Remus (all who easily outstripped me in terms of height and athletic ability) I begun to consistently feel more-than-a-little cowered. I had spurts of despondent self-loathing (wherein I would ask myself why I had had to be born with a big frame, as well as why I had to be so socially, physically and academically inept).

As time went by (and as my physical attributes fostered my personal self-abhorrence), an urge, to be able to disappear at will and to be overlooked when beside my more striking friends (not that I was not already overlooked by the other teachers and students for my ordinariness anyway), grew. I believe that this is precisely why my animagus form is the inconspicuous rat (physical manifestations of inner selves/desires and all that).

The first transformation was a humiliating experience. James was a magnificent stag; Sirius was a great, majestic dog. Remus was of course a lethal werewolf, but me? I was a pitiful little rat that was once again eclipsed and outshined by those around me. An un-Gryffindor-ish being that most judged as among the lowest of animals.

I was discontent, and this consolidated my form (so that it wouldn't change even if it were possible to do so). My knowledge of the prophecy disheartened me. I just couldn't see how I, in the form that I was dealt, would ever be able to perform that which was asked of me.

And then one year, I traveled to Glastonbury; to Godric's Hollow where the revered founder of my House is purported to have once dwelled.

The bleakness of the moors did not impress me, but the undeniable strange beauty of its wildness and the keen urge for every living thing to prove its existence left an indelible mark upon me. I saw it as perhaps an embodiment of my rat, I suppose. Struggling to live while reveling in its existence; taking and being consumed yet wholesomely unconcerned about its fate in the grand scheme of things.

It told me that in life, what you are is not important; what counts is what you can do for life. Put simply, it was an inspiration.

Being short and round, being unremarkable, and being second-par in comparison to all the others, suddenly returned to perspective as being useful as a tool and a weapon. Blended with buried knowledge (that no living person save for myself should ever know), I saw with abrupt clarity that it would be precisely these attributes of myself and my animagus form that would bring me the chances I need, and the ability to pull my plans through.

I became complacent towards the idea of becoming a rodent (which is just as well, since I had to spend 12 years as one after the big betrayal) and learnt to utilize it fully. As such, my last years of Hogwarts were a medley of experiences which were to later build the basis of my actions.

One of my biggest challenges was to build composure (for use when I had to join the Dark). I had never known true fear until I had to train myself to sneak through the castle (without James' invincibility cloak) and pass by the professors without squeaking my position away. Worse of all was sneaking past Professor McGonagall—she's a cat animagus, one of a rat's natural predators. To describe it as nerve-wracking is but an understatement.

New information, new pranks, and new explorations of what I can do. New building-ups of existing Gryffindor-ish courage, which had to be done alone and without the protection of the other Marauders—Merlin knew that there would come to be instances where nothing in the world could have let them protect me (especially when they came to be the ones standing with wands up against me).

The world spins round and round on its axis, and doesn't complain of its shape or role. I am not able to do as much for everyone as the Earth can; who am I to complain about my shape or role in everything?

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My first encounter with the Dark Lord was after my graduation; my first foray into his service was much later, and after even James' wedding.

The very acts of sniveling and groveling do not suit Gryffindors, but I forced myself to sidestep my personal feelings and do so (and still do, albeit with less reluctance and with more pity for the lost Tom Riddle who had been misguided onto his current path). After all, where there is the courage to sacrifice your own needs for the sake of a broader population and a higher purpose, there must be the determination to see your actions through to the end.

The look of James' face as he saw me after the Fidelius Charm was performed, Lily's eyes as she saw Lord Voldemort sweep into Harry's room—they haunt me still, but their images are interspersed with other memories and other knowledge, so that I can only feel sadness but little remorse. It is hard to fight against a destiny, and I experience only lingering regret for that which had to be done.

Some nights I ask myself if it was really worth it, to sacrifice my best friends in the name of the Light, all because of a foretelling that I have no way of knowing is real. But then I think back upon that one decisive night, when James told me that I would be the secret-keeper (thereby confirming my greatest dread), and I know that I had had no other choice.

The thought that Sirius would be the recipient of the Fidelius had lulled me into believing that all those years of guilty companionship at The Marauders' side were not just a step in the book of fate. That all that self-bolstering would not have to ultimately be used as I guessed it would. But destiny will play itself out as it has been written, and no mere endeavour of humans will tweak it otherwise.

Countless times have I wondered if disregarding those words could have bought James and the others more time, just as innumerably I have desperately conjectured if I could have done things differently and spared all their pain. But the days and the nights, and the turns of the seasons, have collaborated each and every time to bring me to my only conclusion.

Only if I stay in the Dark long enough for every shred of Lord Voldemort's soul to be brought to light, can the Light have an opportunity to win, and my Lord a chance to obtain his salvation.

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After Sirius escaped from Azkaban, and all of us (minus James) entered once more the Shrieking Shack, the others asked me why I did it—Remus, Sirius, even Harry, Ron (who took care of me for a few long years) and Hermione (whom I remember because of Crookshanks).

I never thought that I would be brought face-to-face with them again (Harry and the remaining Marauders), but then that was probably my own wishful thinking—my aims had not yet been reached, therefore it was only to be supposed that things be continued in the fashion that they have for so long.

The others asked me why I did it, but I wouldn't answer. Even if I had, they wouldn't have believed me anyway. And a Gryffindor who had dared to do something would take their actions to the hilt, not trying to explain their way out to bargain for freedom. That, I'd learnt as The Marauders played their pranks and took the brunt stalwartly.

After all, the fact remained that I had killed (through betrayal) two of my dearest friends, and landed another in Azkaban for it. I deserved any censure and hatred that I received because of it; a Gryffindor took their punishments in their stride and did not falter easily.

I took their anger, and then I left for where (I had heard) Lord Voldemort was hiding out. My task was not done; with the exposure of my identity I had to return to the Dark Lord—the road is far from fully paved, and the Light needs more help before it can reign over its counterpart.

I may not be a noble steed or ferocious hound, which can show its shape proudly before it attacks. But I am a rat that will do whatever is necessary for its aim in life, and I have the courage to continue doing it even though my reputation is tattered beyond repair (and my prospects of surviving beyond the war, next to naught).

Even if I am misunderstood every step of the way, so be it. I am an entrusted one and a Gryffindor; come wind, water, fire or earth, I have the hardiness of heart to carry my job through.

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A lot of Gryffindors would scorn to become a rodent. It is a sneaky, underhanded, selfish, cowardly animal, with more negative connotations than positive.

I am a Gryffindor.

But do I regret being a rat now? I believe not. Not when the promise of a better future as a result of my actions beckons at me, and a desire to survive lets me do what is necessary.

I do not have to be understood. I just need to have the willingness and ability to continue doing what I know is right, for the sake of all those whom I still think highly of.

Merlin look over them; may the war end soon.

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**-END-**

Author's End Note: Kyaa! Managed to finish this within one day, while having had watched four hours of beautiful shounen anime, done in-comp fic research, _and_ gone out for two hours' worth of delicious shopping! (WSRain wa hontou ni sugoi desu) On a more serious note, I know that the fic is rather confusing overall, but I haven't been able to get online to do real research (my internet was done so I could only refer to material already saved within my laptop) and I haven't read Harry Potter in a long time, so just bear with me, ne?


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